


A Ghostly Affair

by AutumnThePansexual



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Afterlife, Cheating, Death, Ghosts, Heaven & Hell, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Love, M/M, Modern Era, Suicide, affair, really gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:00:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29771043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnThePansexual/pseuds/AutumnThePansexual
Summary: So basically, Hamilton dies and turns into a ghost and then falls in love with ThomasWhupeeI’ll edit whenever I feel like it
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler (past), Alexander Hamilton/Thomas Jefferson, Thomas Jefferson/James Madison (past)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 23





	1. Welp, Hamilton’s dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hamilton offs himself

Another day, another sunrise, another beautiful morning-

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU STUPID BEEPING BITCH!” Alexander threw the alarm clock at the wall, the clock elegantly shattering into a million pieces and crashing to the floor. That’s gonna be a bitch to clean up later, when Alexander was somewhat functional and not feeling like he wanted to die.  
  


Actually that never changes.   
  


“Fuck.” Alexander groaned loudly, bringing his hands up to rub his forehead in an attempt to clear the thudding headache that was already making itself present. His brain was dead, and so was he.

Metaphorically.   
  


He needed coffee.

Alexander slung his legs over the side of the bed, which made the 3 blankets he buried himself in slide to the floor. He tossed his glasses on messily, and stood up. Alexander stretched out his limbs, filling the room with cracking and popping. “Oof,” he groaned, then stepped forward. And immediately slipped afterwards. “AUGH!” He shrieked, falling with a thud to the floor, smacking his face against the hard carpet. He pushed himself up on his arms, glancing underneath his belly to see what made him fall. Of course. If was one of the many binders he kept around the house, filled to the brim with papers listing stupid shit that didn’t matter until after he had coffee.  
  


“Its too gawdamn early for this.” he groaned to the empty house. He finally pushed himself all the way up, holding himself steady on the bed and adjusting his glasses. He took a deep breath and pushed forward, summoning the courage to actually start the day.

  
He walked, hunched over, to the kitchen, turning his coffee machine on and pouring water into it. He grabbed a random mug from his messy cabinets and placed in under the spout of the coffee machine, waiting for the liquid sleep preventer to dispense. Only after he took a few sips of the brown liquid did he notice what mug he was holding. It was his favorite, one that Hercules had bought him, that had a picture of them all smiling and laughing on a dock, bumping beer bottles together, with the caption “Drunk Bitches, But I Love Them.” This brought a smile to Alex’s face, if only for a moment, before completely wiping itself off and being replaced with blankness.

Alexander tilted his mug back, emptying the contents into his mouth, filling it with the bitter taste of all black coffee. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, before placing the mug into the sink and returning to his room to get ready for the day.

He grabbed an clean outfit, at least he was pretty sure it was clean, and threw it on, striding into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He glanced at the mirror before grimacing, and looking away. He looked horrible, with purple bags under his eyes and his cheekbones sunken in, greasy hair falling around his face and resting on his shoulders. _Let’s not look at the mirror again for a while._

Once he finished getting ready, he grabbed his briefcase and an extra cup of coffee, and walked out the door, slamming it in place and locking it.

Alexander strode over to the elevator and pressed “L” for Lobby. He lived on the fourth floor. Truly a pain if the elevator broke. He tapped his foot as the elevator music played around him, soothing him for a rare moment before immediately tensing up again as the door dinged open.  
The car ride to work was calm, mostly. He sat through New York traffic and occasionally screamed at a poor driver, “DRIVE ANY SLOWER YOU FUCKING RETARD BITCH-ASS MOTHERFUCKING SON OF A-“ yeah, anyone could tell he was wound up tight.

He. He really was.

Alexander felt the threat of tears as he let himself think for a moment, really _think_ for a a moment about his current situation and mental health in general. “Fuck!” He slammed his hand down on the horn, feeling his face go hot and shuddery.

Alexander was not well. Not really physically, but everyone knew that. No, Alexander suffered from trauma, trauma, trauma. He had PTSD, depression, and anxiety, at the very least. All resulting from either his childhood or the war he fought in. His childhood was something he intended to never dwell into again, least he have a breakdown in the middle of driving to work.

Alexander also was, well...

Suicidal.

He had been for the larger portion of his life. Before, it really wasn’t all that severe, but it had grown exponentially worse over the last 6 months. A particular incident came in mind if he was prompted with the question, _why?_  
  
Eliza, she had recently left him. She had told him why, and really it was the most shitty reason ever, but Alexander understood. They had been engaged for 2 months when Eliza had called it off. They had been together for a year before he had proposed and they had 2 children together, Philip, who was from her last relationship, and 2 years old, and Angelica, who was a year old. Eliza took them and ran off to god knows where. Alexander hasn’t seen them for the last six months since Eliza had broken up with him. The only reason they still had contact was because Eliza was kind enough to let Alexander still have contact with their kids.

The reason she left, though... well she had finally found out about Alex’s past and his extremely broken mental state. She was aware of his PTSD and depression, but after an extremely stressful week, he had a horrible breakdown in front of her, and her opinion of him changed. It’s one thing to know about it and another to see it. And she didn’t sign up for it, because she thought that she would have to take care of him, or _god_ _forbid_ support him. So she ran off with some unsuspecting girl name Maria, and cheated on him. It didn’t go over very well in Alex’s mind. To him, well,

 _“Just another person I love leaving me behind,”_ he thought to himself glumly.

The horrible thing was that everyone thought that _he_ had cheated. Really, it was the result of a misplaced rumor conveniently being passed around when they broke up, and now everyone believed it. Why, the Secretary of Treasury cheated on his wife, have you heard? What a scandal.

Alex received _great_ kindness from everyone after that. Everyone thought he was a scoundrel, even people who adored him, loved him, and even Washington, who he thought was on his side. _Washington,_ looking at Alexander with nothing but a disgusted glare in his eyes for the rest of his life, _Washington_ who never took his side anymore or even supported him, and _Washington_ not even talking to him for the past 3 months.

And Alex couldn’t really take any more. He couldn’t take any more stress or hurt or sadness at all. He was full of self hatred, and he really just wanted to _die._ He didn’t really know what was stopping him, his kids barely knew him or cared about him anymore, neither did his friends, and he knew, _he knew_ that if one more incident happened, he would, well he would cease to exist at his own hands. He even had a rope in his office drawer.

He was on the edge, and no one even knew it. If you really looked, you could notice the dozens of red marks lining his wrists that clearly stated, “ _he needs help”_ the red marks that spelled out, _I need someone to love me,_ but of course, no one looked.

And Alexander almost laughed in _relief_ as he realized this was the day. He was sure if it, he could feel it in his bones. Today was his suicide day.

————————

_Knock knock knock._ “Hamilton, I know Burr came in here earlier and yelled at you, so you have no excuse as to not be answering my emails.” Thomas waited patiently at the door, holding his papers intently in his hands, almost bending the papers in half. No response. He knocked again, waited for a moment, “Ok dumbass I’m coming in-“ he pushed the door open, eyes trained in concentration on the papers in his hands. “Anyway, Hamilton, I’ve got these papers for you to look over-“ Thomas looked up from the papers in his hands, and screamed. Thomas Jefferson actually screamed, and it echoed around the office for everyone to hear. That Thomas was screaming in terror, to see what was right in front of him.

Alexander’s office was a mess. As it always was, but it was even worse. Any glass inside his office was shattered on the floor, sharp pieces placed dangerously easy to step on. His papers and pens were thrown all over the floor and desk, the pens broken and ink leaking all over, and the papers ripped and bent into pieces. All of his drawers and cabinets were swung wide open, various objects haphazardly falling out of them and onto the floor. A chair was in front of Thomas, on its side among the chaos, and right in front of him-

He-

Oh my-

What-

Holy-

“I’m-I’m going to be fucking sick.” Thomas slumped to his knees, unable to take his eyes off of the sight in front of him. He felt a horrible feeling in his stomach, and layers and layers of guilt and pity and _this is wrong_ gathering in the pit of stomach as he stared at the slightly swinging body in front of him. Because right there, was Alexander Hamilton, face bulging with purple and red, a rope tied securely around his neck, pulling and cutting his flesh, as he hanged from the ceiling.

_He was going to be sick._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to check out my random Crap, check out my tumblr: http://autumnthepansexual.tumblr.com/


	2. Thomas Is Sad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas attends Alexander’s funeral.

Thomas leaned himself against the doorway, eyes wide open in terror. “H-Hamilton? Shit... SOMEONE CALL AN AMBULANCE!” He screamed out into the hallway. He heard people’s doors opening in curiosity and people emerging from their offices, running to Thomas. 

He ignored them as he searched around for a pair of scissors. He grabbed one from underneath a few papers, and jumped onto the desk, reaching towards Alexander. He cringed slightly at the man in from of him, but quickly cut him down and caught him. He lowered the smaller man to floor slowly, grabbing his arm and pulling up the sleeve to check his pulse. He barely noticed the people gathered at the doorway, staring in horrified shock, he was too busy realizing that Alexander...

“He’s dead...” Thomas looked around him, subconsciously searching for something, anything that would tell him that this was wrong, that Alexander was alive, because there was _no way_ that he was dead, that he had killed himself. But nothing. This was Alexander, dead in his own arms, who had hung himself in his office.

He heard gasps of shock as people saw what Thomas was holding. He saw different feelings, but all generally horrified looks. Looks of shock, grief, guilt, sadness, and pity, varying looks that all twisted Thomas’ stomach into knots.

Despite popular belief, Thomas did not hate Alexander. He actually quite enjoyed the gremlin’s company, he was the only opponent that actually gave him any challenge, and Thomas loved challenge. He actually cared a bit about Hamilton, he may have not been friends with him, but there always was concern when he noticed Hamilton hadn’t eaten lunch again, or Hamilton didn’t sleep last night, or Hamilton fucking hung himself in his office.

Thomas wasn’t sure how to feel. Because he _hadn’t known,_ he hadn’t known that Hamilton was this bad off, he didn’t know how bad his mental state was, because once he had pulled the small corpse down, he noticed the rows and rows of red marks and silvery lines up his arms, he recognized self harm immediately. And Thomas felt _bad._ He felt bad because he hadn’t known, and he hadn’t helped when he _could’ve._ It really was haunting him.

Thomas didn’t sleep the next few nights. If he _did_ fall asleep, he tossed and turned all night with nightmares of Hamilton, Hamilton’s body floating in the river, Hamilton’s body smashing on the sidewalk next to a building, Hamilton’s body cut open again and again, stained with blood-

And that concerned Thomas, as he shouldn’t _care_ but here he was having nightmares about the gremlin.

Thomas went back to work the day after the incident, but it wasn’t really going to be the same. It was quiet, and he hated it, because he couldn’t hear Hamilton screaming at the next poor intern, and all there was was the sorrowful faces of the few employees that had actually come to work. Most of them had taken the day off, to recover from Hamilton’s death, as if it actually mattered to them or affected them. And it pained Thomas that it _didn’t,_ because most of what everyone was feeling was _guilt,_ guilt for being rude to the poor man who was _unstable_ and _unfit for his job._  
  
Thomas hated hearing what people were saying about Alexander. Apparently his _suicide_ hadn’t stopped people from trash talking him.

_Hamilton killed himself a few days ago._

_Yeah, I know. Poor bastard, probably was feeling the weight of cheating on such a good girl as Eliza._

_I really feel bad for her, he cheated on her, then he selfishly killed himself-_ and Thomas had turned around, eyes blazing with rage, and shouted at them for being disrespectful and stupid, because _he’s dead, you fucking dumbasses, does he really deserve to be trash talked like a scoundrel after the shit he went through to have killed himself? YOU IGNORANT BASTARDS-_

Washington had gifted Thomas a “generous” mandatory work leave for the rest of the week, and let him off with a warning, a _I know son, it sucks that he’s gone and people are talking, but you can’t control it.”_ and Thomas had felt furious because _Washington himself_ had been ignoring and disrespecting Alexander only because _he cheated-_

But he cheated. Doesn’t- doesn’t he deserve this?

And Thomas couldn’t figure it out in whole the week he had off. _Why was he defending Hamilton? He **is** a scoundrel, he cheated on his lovely wife- _but Thomas had felt horrible thinking this, and deemed it untrue, no matter what the reason _actually_ was.

The funeral was a week later. Thomas woke up the day of it, and for a moment, he felt the rush of waking up and getting ready for another day, another successful day, on a beautiful morning, before he realized _what day it was._ And suddenly it wasn’t a beautiful day, it wasn’t a beautiful morning, and it was all _horrible._ So Thomas had slumped back down in his bed, trying to get rid of the sick feeling that had suddenly manifested in his gut and wipe back the tears that started forming in his eyes.

He had called Jemmy, and begged him to come to the funeral with him, if only for support, and James had questioned _why_ he was going to Hamilton’s funeral. And Thomas had sat in silence for a few moments, asking that question himself. _It wouldn’t be right if I didn’t,_ he told James. So James attended the funeral with him.

Eliza had come back to town from Pennsylvania with the kids once she had heard about Alexander’s suicide. His friends came back as well, Laurens from South Carolina, Hercules and Lafayette from France. His friends had been gone for the past 3 years, and Thomas was actually... kinda mad about that. That Alexander’s funeral was the only thing that had brought them back to New York again. Thomas was actually pissed. Alexander hadn’t seen his friends before he died.

There were not many people at the funeral. Alexander’s friends and family had came to the service, sitting in the front rows, tears staining their faces and adorned in black clothing.

A few people from work came as well, Washington, who had tears on his face and he looked so, so guilty, and Thomas almost yelled and screamed at him for _daring_ to come to Alexander’s funeral, Burr, who had a blank look on his face, who Thomas also wanted to scream at for yelling at Alexander _that_ morning, even though Thomas could also see the hurt and sadness under that facade, Lee, who _why the fuck was he even here,_ Samuel, who was there with Lee, and again, _why the fuck was he even there,_ John Adams, _what the fuck,_ and James, who came for moral support for Thomas. The only one Thomas didn’t want to scream at.

Thomas couldn’t _not_ go to the funeral, it would’ve felt wrong if he didn’t go. They were rivals, but Thomas cared about Alexander, and he cared about his funeral, all be _damned_ if he didn’t go. Which, in hindsight, was really dumb logic, but whatever.

So Thomas attended the service, sitting in the back to avoid weird stares, as the priest went on about Alexander’s life and how he had accomplished many great things for his country. _He had_ accomplished many great things, and Thomas knew this was all wrong because he supposed to accomplish _more_ great things. But... he’s dead. And his legacy was now, well it was his suicide. And _that_ was wrong as well. Because his legacy was supposed to be his accomplishments and family, but now it was just, 

_You remember Alexander Hamilton?  
_

_Oh yeah, didn’t he kill himself a few years ago?_

_Yeah, poor guy._

Thomas felt tears drip down his face as he watched the casket, beautiful casket, covered in many, many colorful flowers, from roses to lilies, daisies to violets. Lower and lower, farther and farther it descended into the ground, forever banishing his body to the earth. His body that was covered in scars, his body that still had rope burn on his neck, his body that was supposed to _still be alive,_ but he isn’t.

It was _so wrong_ because Hamilton had _so much more_ to accomplish for his country, he had _so much more_ to do for his family, he had _so many_ friends and people who cared about him, he was _so goddamn young,_ and worst of all?

_He left Thomas behind_.

And so Thomas weeped behind everyone, out of the sight of their judging eyes, and he let his tears drip down his face as Alexander was gone forever, buried under the dirt never to return.

Shit.


	3. Suspicious Occurances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tHat’S kINdA sUS bRo WtF iS tHAt

_A week later..._

Thomas was sitting in his office, typing some documents Washington assigned to him. He yawned, stretching out his limbs, before going back to work, his arms tired and his fingers numb.

Hamilton has been dead for two weeks.

Washington still hasn’t found someone as a replacement for the Treasury department. Actually, Thomas has barely seen Washington himself. The only contact he’s had from the man for the last weeks were emails that were strictly work related. The man was probably grieving over Hamilton’s death, seeing as no matter how many times Alexander denied it, Washington had obviously been a father figure to him. Thomas had sometimes caught a glimpse in Hamilton’s eyes, see sometimes how much the younger man had yearned for Washington’s approval.

But none of those things matter. Thomas needs to finish these documents.

He continued typing, barely aware of what he was putting in the document, he would have to review it later. All he knew was that the document was about something relating to the trade and manufacturing going through the United States and France. 

Thomas felt an annoying tickling in the back of his throat. “Ugh, am I getting a cold-“ he cut himself off, interrupted by a coughing fit, hacking violently into his elbow. The fit lasted a few minutes, and it left Thomas even more exhausted when it was over. He slumped over his desk, rubbing his eyes in exhaustion. “Shit, maybe I need to go home.” It was only 3:00 P.M. and he was this tired. Thomas grabbed the laptop, bringing it closer, and quickly shot an email to Washington telling him he was taking the rest of the day off. He didn’t wait for a response.

Thomas grabbed his laptop, shoved it into his bag, and started walking out his door. He sighed deeply, trying to get rid of the next coughing fit he could feel tugging at his chest. He pushed open the door, when-

 _Crash!_ “SHIT!”

Thomas froze midway through pushing open the door

He could’ve sworn he heard a distinctive voice, a very, very familiar voice... 

Thomas whirled around, searching for the cause of the crash. Probably something he would have to clean up. On the floor in front of his desk, there was a vase that was broken into a million colorful pieces, spread around the floor.

”Fuck...” he groaned, stepping forward to clean up the shards. He carefully picked up each piece, mindful to not cut himself on the sharp glass. Once all the glass was cleaned up and in the garbage, he finally stepped out his office door and got on his way home. 

_I’m probably so sick I’m imagining stupid things,_ he thought to himself, wondering why he heard that voice.

He took a cab home, thinking that he probably wasn’t in good enough shape to drive home without crashing into a tree. He sat in the back seat, sniffling, as the driver turned the radio up to drown out the sickly man’s coughs. Thomas curled up into himself, like a small child, and rested his head on his knees, trying to divert the damned stomach ache that was setting in.

He breathed a sigh of relief as the cab drove into his apartment lot. He lived in an apartment, like most of the people in New York City, on the 8th floor. It was really a bitch of the elevator broke down and Thomas had to take the stairs. He thanked the driver, paying him graciously, and stepped out the car, making sure his bag was in his hand. He gripped it securely as he stepped into the lobby, taking the elevator up to the eighth floor.

He shifted uncomfortably as he waited for the elevator to get up to his floor. Finally the doors opened, and he pushed through the doors before they even finished opening, feeling his throat itch again. He strode quickly to his apartment door, slapping the key into the slot and jerking it open.

He slammed the door behind him, locking it, and ran to his kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with water. He gulped it down quickly, and felt the cool liquid sooth the tingle that would’ve left him hacking on the floor with pain. He stood in the kitchen for a bit, leaning against the counter, breathing in and out slowly in an effort to calm his breathing.

Shit, he felt like... shit. For lack of better words. His breathing patterns were irregular, and his temperature was definitely higher than normal. He needed someone to help him through this cold. Oh!

Thomas searched his pocket for his phone. Wait, where did he put it? He stumbled through the apartment, searching as well as he could about to faint on the floor. Thankfully it was sitting on the coffee table. He grabbed the phone and quickly scrolled through his contacts, tapping on “Jemmy James”. He waited as it ringed a few times before picking up.

”Hello?” a voice asked through the phone.

”Hi Jemmy.” Thomas greeted with a hoarse voice.

“Jesus Tom, you sound like death itself!” James spoke, concerned.

“I’m fine, James, just a cold. I think... Can you come over?” Thomas asked. It wasn’t very often that Thomas was sick, but when he was, James would come over and take care of him until he could go back to work.

”Sure, I’ll come over. Just make sure to drink some water by the time I get there, I’ll pick up some cold medicine on the way over. See ya in a bit.” the other man hung up. Thomas slumped back on the couch, which he apparently had sat down on during the call. He grabbed the half full glass and brought it to his lips, chugging it back quickly. He let out a few coughs before settling down into the soft cushions. The soft, warm, welcoming cushions...

”Holy fuck, he finally fell asleep.” A voice echoed across the room, waking Thomas up straight away. He was a light sleeper. He almost bolted straight up, if he didn’t want to find out what the hell was in his living room without scaring it. So he cracked his eyes open slowly, searching for what had disturbed the silence. He saw a humanoid figure before him, with its back facing Thomas, looking blueish and transparent, bouncing slightly as it floated midair. His eyes shot wide open in surprise.

”Thomas! I’m here!” James’ voice called from the door. The figure tensed up in surprise, and immediately disappeared from sight. 

James let himself in through the door, swinging the extra key in his left hand, a McDonald’s bag and cold medicine in the other. James stopped, looking at Thomas in concern. ”Hey, what’s wrong? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Funny how right James had been.

”I feel like shit.” Thomas croaked from the couch, wincing at the sound of his own voice. He was sprawled across the cushions, laying down half on and half off the couch, on his back. James walked over, setting the bag on the coffee table, and grabbed Thomas’ wrist to check his pulse.

“Shit, that isn’t normal. Your pulse is racing. And,” he felt the back of his hand on Thomas’ forehead, “you’re burning up! Come on, let’s get you to bed. Up, up.” James grabbed his arm, pulling the larger man up over his shoulder. Thomas didn’t do anything, just dead weight. “Goddamn Thomas, you’re heavy as fuck, come on...” James heaved him up, pulling him to his bedroom. Thomas picked up his feet somewhat, walking with the other man best as he could.

He pulled the sickly man into his bedroom, leaving the light off.

Once James got Thomas into bed, bundled up in 3 comforters and every single pillow in the apartment, James left for a second to grab the medicine, leaving the light off for Thomas. Thomas shifted slightly in his blankets, feeling both too hot and too cold, shivers traveling in waves up his spine. 

“James, my stomach hurts...” he called out, groaning as the sound sent sharp pains lancing through his head. He wriggled his hands out of the blankets, reaching up to massage his forehead. James walked back into the room with the medicine and food. Thomas winced at the smell of food, his stomach rumbling painfully.

”Your stomach hurts? Did you eat lunch at all? Or breakfast?” James walked over with the bag in his hand. He leaned over the bed with a spoon full of the red syrupy medicine. “Here, here, take your medicine. You’ve hardly taken care of yourself for the past week, no wonder you got sick.” He nudged the spoon against Thomas’ lips to no avail. “Hey, open your mouth, you’re not a child.” He forced the spoon into Thomas’ mouth. Thomas winced at the disgusting taste, swallowing it down with a grimace. ”Or am I?” Thomas chuckled weakly once he finished. His stomach decided to let out a particularly loud and painful growl. James winced.

“You know what, you are a child, and you didn’t even answer my question. Have you eaten today?” Thomas shook his head no. “Did you eat yesterday?” Thomas paused, shaking his head no again. James’ eyes shone with concern. “Thomas, you can’t skip food like that, here...” he grappled for the McDonald’s bag, closing his hand around the top after a few moments. 

“Is it okay if I turn the lamp on?” James asked softly. Thomas nodded slowly, squeezing his eyes tight in anticipation. He heard the light turn on, and he slowly opened his eyes. The light from the lamp was soft enough that it didn’t hurt his head. James was sitting on the bed next to him, opening the fast food bag and pulling out a burger. “Here, sit up so you can eat this. I’m not having you choke and die a slightly unfortunate death.” Thomas humphed in defiance, shaking his head childishly. “Fucking- fine, be like that.” James scooted forward, pulling the sick man up to a sitting position. “There, you fucking kid, now eat your happy meal and be a big boy.” He teased lightly, handing Thomas a Big Mac.

”Thanks Jemmy, you really are the best.” Thomas grinned around a mouth full of burger. “Ew, that’s disgusting, swallow your food before you speak.” James lectured, smiling fondly at his friend. 

“Okay, _mom.”_ Thomas rolled his eyes in mock annoyance, before smiling back at James.

James watched him carefully as Thomas finished eating, making sure he didn’t choke, before getting up and turning the lamp off. “I’m going to let you sleep now, I’ll be in the living room. If you need anything, just call, ok?” He watched Thomas for his nod, before closing the door carefully behind him.


	4. James Is A Hungry Boi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas and James chill.
> 
> Basically just a filler chapter before we get to the ✨tea✨ 
> 
> !DISCLAIMER! I literally know almost nothing about cooking, so the omelet scene is probably incorrect.

Thomas woke up way later in the day, his headache gone and his stomach settled pleasantly. He sighed in relief as he realized he felt so much better than before. What had happened, anyway? He remembered calling James, then falling asleep on the couch, then being woken up by... by what? A voice, one that he had heard just earlier today, had woken him up. And he saw- he saw a ghost! His eyes widened as he realized. At that time he had been too sick to comprehend it completely.

But ghosts aren’t real? Why did he see one then? Well, Thomas had been so sick he was probably hallucinating, so he probably imagined hearing the voice and seeing the ghost. How strange.

He sat up, pushing the blankets off him. _Where was James?_ He wondered, getting off the bed. He noticed the McDonald’s bag sitting on his nightstand, and he grabbed it to throw it away. He _hated it_ when his room wasn’t clean. He pushed open the door to a dark hallway. Wait what time is it? He grabbed his phone that was miraculously still in his pocket and checked the time. Oh, it’s 2:00 A.M.. He walked out into the living room, hearing a faint noise coming from the TV.

James was laid out on the sofa, glasses lopsided, snoring away. Adorable. Thomas grabbed out his phone and took a picture before going to turn the TV off. What’s he watching? Oh, _Friends._ Thomas cringed. He hated sit-coms, he thought they were stupid and dramatic. Which they were. He grabbed the remote, turning it off. “Jemmy?” he shook the smaller man softly. No response. “Jemmy?” He called again, louder. The short man mumbled a little before shifting back into place. Thomas sighed, walking into the kitchen.

”OH FUCK SHIT SON OF A TWAT THE MAC ‘N CHEESE IS ON FIRE, MOTHERFUCKER!” Thomas yelled out loudly, and very realistically, because they had been in this exact situation many times before. He laughed as James bolted right up and ran into the kitchen, cursing like a sailor.

”Thomas you fucking idiot how many times-“ he stopped halfway as he realized that neither the kitchen nor Thomas was on fire. He groaned, “Why did you disturb my sleep...” James looked at him, then stopped. “Shit, Thomas did something happen? You’re still sick you should be in bed, I’m sorry-“ Thomas held the other man as he tried to push Thomas into the bedroom again.

”James I’m fine, I was just trying to wake you up, I shook you but you wouldn’t budge.” He explained, still holding James away from him. James glared up at him,

”Then why did you wake me up?” He stepped back, crossing his arms in annoyance. It was something James did a lot, because he was too polite to actively voice or motion his annoyance.

”I wanted to move you to my bed so you wouldn’t sleep on the couch all night,” Thomas smiled at him, before moving to the fridge. “I also noticed you didn’t eat anything earlier, do you want me to make some food?” He asked, already grabbing some eggs out of the fridge. “I can make omelets.” He offered, turning back to smile at James. James didn’t smile back, unimpressed.

”I’m not taking your bed, and you’re still sick so you’re not making food.” He stated blankly, moving to take the eggs out of Thomas’ hands. Thomas held them up out of reach, taking advantage of James’s height.

”First of all, I’m not as sick anymore, my headache is gone and so is my fever,” James reached up to confirm this, nodding when he felt that Thomas was back at a normal temperature. “and second, I’ve slept for like 11 hours, so you can take the bed. Now, do you want an omelet.” James look up at him for a moment, before nodding, smiling at his taller friend.

Thomas moved to the cabinets, grabbing a pan out, and set it down on the stove. He turned the heat to low, telling James, “it’s not a good omelet if you don’t cook it nice and slow.” He turned to the fridge again, grabbing tomatoes, cheese, and olives. He turned to his spice rack and grabbed oregano and parsley. He set everything next to the stove, and cracked open a few eggs into the heated up pan. Once the eggs were cooked a bit he minced the tomatoes and tossed a few into the first omelet, adding lots of cheese, because James loved cheese, and some olives. He flipped the eggs over the toppings, watching as they sealed in the ingredients. He grinned wide as a satisfying smell filled the apartment. He flipped the omelet one more time before sliding it onto the plate for James. He set it down with a fork on the kitchen counter next to the bar stools and watched as James slid into the seat and took a hasty bite, sucking in air to cool it down, “hot, hot, hot.” He whined. Thomas laughed, watching as James slowly swallowed the bite and nodded at Thomas, “it’s good.” Thomas turned back to the stove, satisfied, and began making his own omelet.

Once he finished, he sat down next to James and began digging into his own omelet. He didn’t miss James’ pleading looks at him, glancing down to his own empty place before glancing back up at Thomas. Thomas laughed, then turned and grinned at James as he dug his his fork into the eggs and plopped it into his mouth. Once he had eaten half, he slid the plate over to James. James beamed at him and started eating the rest of the omelet.

”Thomas these are fucking delicious.” James told him as soon as he finished. Thomas grinned, he loved making food for James. It was absolutely adorable to watch his bestest friend eat his food and give him that lopsided grin, pushing his glasses back. He and James actually used to date. It only lasted a few weeks, because it went from a great friendship to awkward kisses, hugs, and weird lovey conversations that Thomas had _hated_ and thankfully James agreed, so they had went back to being friends.

”That’s what she sai-“ James cut him off.

”Shut the fuck up, don’t even start.” He glared at Thomas for a few seconds before bursting in laughter. Thomas laughed along with him, grabbing the plates and setting them in the sink. He quickly washed them and set them in the cabinets.

”Alright, off to bed, you.” He pulled James down from the stool and into his room, despite James’ protests.

”’Night, James.” Thomas waved as he softly closed the door behind him. He walked into the living room, grabbing a soft blanket from under the coffee table and settling down on the couch. He could get a little bit more sleep in, and he felt his eyelids weighing down heavily. He laid his head down on one of the couch pillows, and slowly sank down, falling asleep-

Except, no.

”That was pretty gay, Jefferson.” A voice rang through the room. A very, very, extremely familiar voice...

Holy shit.

Holy.

Shit.

”Hamilton?!”


	5. Oh Wow, Hamilton’s A Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander and Thomas have a friendly ghost-chat

Thomas swung straight up in alarm, his eyes darting around rapidly in panic. In front of him was the same figure he had seen earlier that day. Actually, tecnically yesterday. In front of him, living and breathing... or not, was Alexander Hamilton. He looked quite normal, except not normal for Hamilton. He no longer had horrendous bags under his eyes or sunken in cheekbones resulting from not feeding yourself correctly. His hair was done up nicely, not greasy like before, but a nice silky smooth texture, and his calculating brown eyes were filled with new life. He looked like an actual man for once, except for the slight transparence and blue tint to his body. And also the fact that he was literally floating. He was wearing one of his usual suit and ties, a nice bottle green color complemented with a matching black tie and undershirt. The only off thing about him was the very visible rope burn at his neck, not quite covered up by his collar. He wore a smug expression, smirking at Thomas for his surprise.

”Uh... hi.” Thomas looked away from the figure, not really sure what to say to the seemingly man in front of him.

”Hello Jefferson. How’s it going?” Hamilton floated down towards him, settling into the arm chair next to the couch. Hamilton looked back at the chair and cringed at the color of it, which was, it Thomas’ opinion, a very beautiful plum color that suited excellently with the rest of his house. “Jefferson why is everything you own purple?” He threw his head back, groaning, before huffing out a laugh and fixing his stare back on Thomas.

”How about you tell me something, what the fuck?! You just intrude my house, floating around like a fucking ghost, what the hell, and you’re dead! But here you are!” Thomas began yelling, before lowering his voice, casting a guilty expression towards his bedroom. He didn’t want to wake up James and engage his poor friend in whatever the hell was going on.

“Jesus Jefferson, slow down before you give yourself an aneurysm. I’ll explain everything, ok? Just don’t interrupt me.” Alexander stared him down, making sure he wouldn’t open his mouth. “So... where to begin... ok. So when I died, I went to heaven. Whoop. And I saw my mother. That was... that was great.” His eyes welled up slightly with tears as he mentioned his mother. “We talked for a bit before she explained to me what was going on. So basically, everyone goes to heaven. But if they were a good person, or would’ve led a really good life that would’ve affected the world, they are allowed access to the mortal world. If only to see maybe what they’ve accomplished or have contact with their loved ones. Apparently because they deserved it. And I was one of those selected few. It’s strange, really, how it works, but I figured it out. Basically we are transparent, and we can go through any object, and make ourselves visible to any one we want, and make our voice audible for anyone we want. That’s cool, and we can also make ourselves solid for an amount of time. If you wanna do it for longer, you gotta practice it. I uh... yeah, that’s it.” Alex finished his little rant and turned to face Thomas. Thomas did not respond, just sat there for a few minutes trying to process this new information.

After a few moments, Thomas finally spoke. “So, why are you telling me this? Why did you choose to pester me and not your friends or family?” Alexander froze, and a cold look washed over his face. He grimaced, before answering Thomas,

“it’s complicated. I thought you were the only one that it would be ok to visit, because I didn’t wanna bother my friends. They were gone for three years, and I thought they deserved some closure. So did Eliza.” He frowned, staring down heavily at his lap.

“Jesus dude... wait. ARE YOU THE ONE WHO-“ Thomas glared at Alexander. Hamilton cut him off, 

“who broke your vase? Yes. Sorry, uh that’s not what I meant to do.” He trailed off, glancing up and grinning maliciously at Thomas.

”Why are you following me around anyway? You fucking hate me.” Thomas paused, realization dawning on him. “Were you- were you at the funeral?” He asked, feeling hate flower deep down inside him.

Alex sighed. “No. I- I couldn’t do that. I just- seeing all my friends and family would’ve broken me. There was a reason I- I... died. I didn’t want to see my friends and family crying like they cared about me because then i would’ve regretted it.” Hamilton’s eyes lost some of their light, before bouncing back up with light and grinning at Thomas. “I watched you yesterday, or the day before yesterday I guess, when you tripped Veronica in the hall.” He laughed, floating up and stretching out midair. Thomas was bewildered by this, but he would have to learn to accept it.

”I didn’t mean to-! Uh, actually... yeah I did. She just so fucking annoying! She’s so plain, and I’m surprised she even got a job, she’s the most basic bitch I have ever seen, and-“ Thomas stopped as he heard Hamilton throw his head back and let out a low belly laugh

”That bitch, oh my god... she’s a fucking lettuce. Plain, and no one likes her.” Thomas cut in, _hey, I like lettuce!_ To which Alexander responded, “so you don’t like that fucking doormat of a woman?” And Thomas had laughed heartily at.

The two enemies engaged in idle chatter, and Thomas slowly got comfortable and used to the idea of Hamilton being a ghost. It was weird, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Now that the man was, uh, dead, he didn’t have any cares and he could easily discuss with Thomas without a fight breaking out, because he couldn’t care about the things he did before anymore.

By 4 A.M., Thomas’ eyes were weighing heavily at him, and he felt sleepiness wash over him in waves. As soon as Hamilton noticed, he nodded at Thomas and stood up from the spot on the couch he had captured next to Thomas. “Bye Thomas, I’ll see ya later.” He smiled, and faded from sight, no trace of him left behind except for the sleepy grin on Thomas’ face.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to check out my random Crap, check out my tumblr: http://autumnthepansexual.tumblr.com/


End file.
